


Bones

by thewolfsbane



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst, Anorexia, Auctions, Biting, Bonding, Comfort Sex, Cuffs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Handcuffs, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Kink, Knotting, Lingerie, M/M, Minor Violence, Non-Sexual Slavery, Oral Sex, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Sexual Slavery, Slave Erica, Slave Stiles, Slavery, Slavery Kink, Triggers, Underage Sex, Violence, labour camps, tied
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:32:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolfsbane/pseuds/thewolfsbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Didn't your mama teach you to make do with what you have?”<br/>After escaping a labour camp in a world where werewolves reign, Stiles finds himself caught and disbanded from his group. He is put up for sale in an Arena Auction; where he loses his closest friend and is won buy a more than generous bidder by the name of Derek. Stiles is unaware that he is frail and sick, and Derek is conflicted about keeping the boy in such a condition. Follow Stiles and his life as a slave to two Betas and his new Master, who may or may not be the pure un-bonded wolf that he makes himself out to be. With a dark past behind him and name to live up to, Derek shows that he can get what he wants and when he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Recently got into the slavery fics and I couldn't help but write my own. Let me know if you like it!

They had been in the holding room for at least thirty days. The room, comparable to a basement, smelt of body odour and dank air. Stiles, a tall and malnourished seventeen year old, and the rest of the humans had been hauled up in here for what seemed like forever. They had all tried their hardest to remain positive, but the hope they all shared was simply starting to fade.

 

Stiles was in a group of four other people prior to this mishap that escaped from a labour camp a month ago. The labour camps were horrible, and if you ever found yourself caught up in one, there were only three options; accept your fate, die or run. After a tiresome three months of planning, Stiles’ cell of three and an extra from another cell, eventually managed to escape the ruthless cycles of the camp by disarming the electric fences for a small amount of time and slipping through.

The group fended for themselves across land borders and tried to find all the food they could at abandoned farms; they even took food from a kind pack of outcast Betas. But all in all, the group were caught and disbanded before being ‘redistributed’ and sold to another camp or a new Master. Stiles, however, has been sold to another Merchant who was harsh and brute and easy to irk. Stiles was of a ‘stand your ground’ nature, and this Merchant learned quite quickly that Stiles was going to be an easy slave to sell. Werewolves had a tendency to enjoy tougher and mischievous slaves; not only was it fun to punish them into their place, but it was enjoyable to see said slave writhe.

 

Stiles had only been sold twice in small, rural auctions. One was to a nice Beta female who only got him to do small jobs but when she was to wed an Alpha, she had to sell him to the camp.

 

Stiles slumped around in the dimly lit room, barely catching a glimpse of the faces around him. He didn’t know why they were in this room. All he did know was that they were all being kept alive for a purpose. The Merchant fed and watered them once a day and everyone had their own small bedroll to sleep on. This was much nicer treatment than anything he had received since the Werewolves reigned. It must be for a purpose.

 

Stiles had befriended a young girl, about the age of sixteen, named Erica who had also been caught escaping a camp not far from the camp Stiles fled. She oft lent against the wall and waited for Stiles to find her in the darkness, where he would then crouch beside her and talk about the memories of the Old World. The world where Werewolves only existed in books, and there was television and regular comforts like chocolate and tea. But now the Werewolves ruled over the humans, they enslaved the world; but Erica and Stiles would rarely talk of the New World.

 

“Aight.” The Merchants voice was heard, matching footsteps down the stairs that led to the room.

 

“Everyone get up. Woman on the left side of the room, and men on the left. Now.” He called, opening the barred door and holding two sacks, full to the brim of something. Stiles could now see there were multiple guards behind the Merchant, armed with guns and prodders. Stiles hated the prodders.

The entire room stood, some slower than others, and split off into their needed directions.

 

“These are your new clothes. Don’t get them fucking dirty, you gotta look pretty for these wolfies.” He cackled, before putting a sack in front of each gender.

 

Stiles was now wearing slim fitting, and tattered jeans. The men were not provided with shirts, only the skin on their backs. The woman wore the same jeans but they also had skin coloured bandeaux.

 

“You’re all gonna be on show tonight. If you haven’t been in an Arena Auction, tonight’s your lucky night.”

 

* * *

 

 

After an approximately ten minute long cattle truck drive to a large arena, the slaves were all lined up. They were all moved one by one into moveable cages on the stage of the arena, curtains drawn so the audience was hidden. The cages allowed them to stand but barely move. Once they were all locked into their cages, the Merchant drew the curtains.

Stiles was used to only seeing Betas and Omegas buying slaves, so it was a startling sight to see the beady red eyes and hearing the hungry snarls of Alphas. He hadn’t thought they would be much different, but they were all visibly stronger and more powerful than the Betas and Omegas. There was no doubt about that.

 

Stiles began to shake, his frail body almost generating convulsions he was so frightened. The wheels of his cage began to rock gently. There was no corner to hide in; the safest place was in the middle of the cage. He peered throughout the sea of cages in a frantic search for Erica. His eyes began to swell and his hands were inexorable to the shaking his body unyieldingly produced. Stiles eventually saw the same, empty and afraid eyes he was so comforted by framed by messy locks of blonde hair. She was a row in front and three cages down. Erica looked at Stiles and reached her hands through the bars in an inevitable to fail attempt to touch Stiles. He reached out to her too, mouthing the words “It’s okay”. She simply shook her head. Erica had given up.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Alphas of all creeds and packs, welcome to the auction.” The Merchant spoke triumphantly to the crowd. The werewolves were quiet, eagerness in the air.

 

“We will be bringing up our slaves one by one for you to freely bid on, you can collect your slave after the Arena Auctions in the holding rooms. Let’s begin.”

 

One by one, the slaves were wheeled to centre stage, bid upon and sold. Eventually, Stiles saw Erica being auctioned and he could not bear the sight of seeing his only friend being sold to a malicious animal who was most likely going to tear her apart. He didn’t even get to say goodbye, that’s what hurt him the most.

 

Finally, Stiles’ sullen body was wheeled centre stage where the Merchant called a starting price to which Stiles thought was extremely generous.

 

_$100._

The price climbed at a steady pace. The battle seemed to be between two Alphas.

 

_$110_

_$115_

_$140_

_$155_

Out of the blue a voice boomed from the back of the werewolves.

 

“$500.”

 

It was matched swiftly by a new bidder.

 

“$700.”

 

The previous bidder replied.

 

“$800.”

 

Immediately following, the new bidder growled and rose from his seat. Stiles arched his head downward and did not see the bidder amongst the mass. He didn’t want to see.

 

“Fifteen hundred.” The voice pronounced the words slowly and keenly. The Merchant instantaneously responded with a loud “Sold!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles stood in his holding room, cuffed, tied and guarded by a staunch looking female guard. She paced back in forth ahead of Stiles as if he was precious cargo.

 

The holding rooms were miniature cells that were outside of the arena. Every slave who was bidded on was placed in a cell with a guard, where they would remain until they were picked up.

 

There was a quiet knock on the door and the guard took soldier like strides to the door and unlocked it.

 

“Alpha Hale.” She said, bowing her head to the tall, muscular Alpha that had investigative grey eyes that were hooded with dark, thick eyebrows.

 

“The slave is ready for you. Would you like us to take him to your vehicle, Sir?” The guard was starting to sound like an idiot to Stiles; as if an Alpha needed a human guard to move a feeble and lanky teenage boy who could barely stand by himself without feeling weak.

 

“I am sure I can cope.” He snickered, picking up the rope that was attached to Stiles’ cuffs. Stiles swiftly rose to his feet after Hale tugged at it a few times. Hale slung the rope over his shoulder and strolled ever so casually out of the holding room, Stiles following weakly.

 

The Alpha drove a Hummer. Stiles had not seen a Hummer since the Old World when he was thirteen years old. His father had looked after a family friends Hummer for a few days before reluctantly giving it back. Stiles’ father was a Sherriff before the reign. He was sent off to help the battle during the phase between human leadership and werewolf leadership. Stiles hadn’t seen him since.

 

Immediately as the two approached the car, two Betas who were leaning on the bonnet, leapt forward and laughed.

 

“Really, Derek? You couldn’t have got something better. What’s this gonna do?” One of the Betas spoke. He had dark skin and a strangely shaped nose.

 

“Boyd, it will probably do better than you at anything.” The other laughed, his head full of curls.

 

“Eh, shut up ‘saac.”

 

“Dammit, you two, just get him in the car.” Derek said, yanking the rope so that Stiles was jolted forward into the Betas grasps. Stiles groaned in pain, it felt as if every muscle and bone ground together at once. The Betas shoved Stiles in the backseat before the one named Isaac clambered in the front and Boyd sat next to Stiles.

 

“When we get home, you two put him in the slaves bedroom. I’m going to go for hunt, and you two will join.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles woke up groaning, jerking forward as a sharp pain went through his right arm.

 

“You bruise too easily.” Derek ran his fingers around a large purple and brown bruise that had formed around Stiles’ forearm. Derek was perched in a seat next to Stiles’ bed. Next to him was a small cart with a bowl of water, bandages and cloths resting on it.

 

“The Merchants don’t treat you as well as they used too.”

 

Derek grabbed a hold of Stiles’ wrist, being able to wrap his thumb and index finger around his bone with room still available.

 

“I’m not allowing you to work for a month or so. We need you healthy. You look sick. I am not okay with that.” His voice was soft and gentle, like he cared about Stiles’ anorexic body and the way his jaw and cheekbones stuck out on his face. The way Stiles’ elbow joints were like diamonds and his arms like sticks. His knees prominent and his ribs pushing through his clothing. And Derek seemed to care about it. Stiles was so used to being like this that he rarely noticed it and no one else commented on it because those he had been around were exactly the same.

 

Derek clutched the damp cloth and rubbed it against Stiles’ pale skin, riddled with small bruises.

 

“I’ll get one of the cooks to bring you some food. I hope I can fix you, I don’t like seeing this. I’ll visit you later.” Derek dumped the cloth on the cart and pushed it aside.

 

“Kid, what’s your name?”

 

“I can be whatever you want me to be.” Stiles replied, realising he had not spoken for hours.

 

“I want you to be what you already are.”

 

“Stiles. That’s my name.”

 

“Well, Stiles, I am Derek Hale. We will talk soon. But for now, I will send Melissa in to tend to you.”

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles’ stomach had shrunk over time, so the amount of food that was offered to him was not always the amount that would be eaten. He tried his hardest, though; filling whatever space he had in his body with hot meals and drink. After a week, Stiles began to feel the changes in his body that were barely visible, his body still thin, but were major improvements from the state he was in when he was bought. He was able to walk for hours without aching and his protuberant joints began to sluggishly regain slight amounts of fat. Melissa, an Omega nurse, tended to Stiles frequently; bringing him food from the kitchen and tending to any aches and pains he had. She was not really an Omega to anyone in the house; her ranking in dynamics so low she was equivalent to a common house slave. But Melissa seemed to exude positive ambiances and enjoyed her rank in the house. She reminded Stiles of his own mother who died when he was young; encouraging and radiant.

Derek had not fulfilled his promise of visiting Stiles, though. Stiles had imagined a werewolf of which lived in such a glamorous house would have priorities outside of the walls, so he had thought nothing of it.

“Stiles, shall we go for a walk through the house?” Melissa spoke, drawing the curtains in Stiles’ room. The quarters he resided in only consisted of a wooden framed single bed, with a hard mattress that was comfortable in the right position. There was a small cabinet next to the bed which held no purpose in the room, but made it feel more lived in.

Stiles pulled himself out of the entanglement of sheets and let his bare feet hit the wooden floors.

“Can we walk further than down the hall?” Stiles remarked, knowing Melissa would take it lightly.

She shrugged and squeaked a small hum, as if to say ‘ _why not?_ ’

The two walked down the hall Stiles had become familiar with during the two weeks he had been here.

_Two doors on the left, one on the right._

As they reached the end of the hall, a violent scream was heard downstairs. Stiles had never passed the stairs since he had been carried up them the night of his arrival by Boyd. The scream was followed by Derek’s voice, angry and condescending.

Melissa and Stiles cautiously walked out onto the open floor that over looked the front door below, where Derek’s back was visible, craning over a kneeling boy with his hands raised in defence. The boy, Stiles could now see was a slave by his clothing, had a deep laceration across his right cheek.

“If I catch these hands stealing one more fucking time, I’ll throw you into the camps! You hear?” Derek yelled.

“Y-yes.” The slave responded, quaking and bleeding not only blood but fear into the air.

Melissa stood next to Stiles, both vigilantly watching the scene below. Stiles had not seen this side of Derek. The side he had seen was concerned and, to a certain degree, caring. Stiles had felt as though Derek had been awfully kind to him and that Alphas were not meant to be like that according to the stories. But Stiles had originally been fooled by this façade, now obviously questionable.

“Yes what?” Derek growled, grabbing the boy by his wrists and lifting him into the air.

“Alpha Hale! Master! Alpha Hale!” The boy squealed, turning his face away from Derek’s and portraying a terrified grimace. He kicked his legs and wailed the saddest of yells.

Derek proceeded to throw the boy across the room towards the front door, hitting his left side against the door frame. The boy fell to the ground; limp like a ragdoll. The slave eventually moved, cowering against the doorframe, visibly hurt but attempting not to show it.

Stiles inhaled sharply when the harsh red eyes fell upon his own. Derek’s anger only cultivated when he saw the tall boy stare back at him in disgust. Derek raised his finger at Stiles, causing Stiles to step back in anxiety, Melissa following slowly.

“Don’t you god damn forget it.”

Derek then advanced down the hall, deeper into the house. Instinctively, Stiles paced down the stairs to the boy who was curled against the door. He was shielding his face and quivering. Stiles crouched next to the boy, and rested his hand on his shoulder, the boy flinching slightly at his touch. Vibrations that exuded off the kid were intense.

“Hey, are you alright?” Stiles cooed.

“Fine.” The boy gazed upward at Stiles in utter relief that Derek had gone. Melissa had appeared behind Stiles and offered her input.

“You always bear the brunt of him. And it’s those stupid Betas that take the food from the kitchen hands. Come on, Scott. Stand up. Let’s take you up to the nursing bay and take a look at your face, yeah?” Melissa stretched her hand outward towards the slave, known as Scott. Stiles realised in this moment that Melissa may not receive the respect she deserved from the wolves, but she sure as hell did from the slaves. She was a friend to them, she offered respect in return, and in a cruel world like this, Stiles really admired that.

* * *

 

The next morning, the house was quiet and the mood seemed to have relaxed itself. Stiles decided that he wanted to start work, he was sick of being cooped up in a small room when he could be making use of himself like all of the other slaves. Stiles felt ready.

He walked down the end of the hall once more, this time descending the stairs to an empty bottom floor. Stiles turned in circles, bewildered at the size of the bottom floor that had deceived him into thinking it was rather small. It had looked easy to get around from the balcony above, but from below, the halls stretched far and the doors outnumbered the people in the house. Only now could Stiles really see the true beauty that was in this old and unloved house. It had the finest of pillars, extending to the roof. Fixtures made from solid oak that had undoubtedly been left worn for a rustic feel. Floors thick and heavy of polished wood of an unknown variety, but one of which shined magnificently off the sunlight that seeped through the windows. Just as Stiles was admiring the house, Isaac exited from one of the doors to the left of him.

“What are you doing?” Isaac said as he spotted Stiles.

“Looking for Derek, Sir.” Stiles replied nervously.

“You haven’t seen the slave with the cut on his face, have you?” Isaac inquired.

“Scott, Sir?”

“Yeah.”

“Last I saw of him, he was at the nurse bay with Omega Melissa, Sir.”

“Jesus Christ, would you stop calling me sir? Oh, and Derek’s in the door I was just in.” Isaac grouched, shoving his hands in his coat pocket and wandering off in the opposite direction, looking angered and worried.

Stiles regained focus. He needed to ask Derek what chores were needed of him to fulfil. He moseyed to the door, thinking and rethinking the possibilities of things that were most likely going to go wrong in their conversations, such as Stiles would forget to say Master and he would be thrown across the room through the door in which Stiles had concluded would wound him quite heavily. He knocked gently on the door to only be responded to with a sharp “Come in.”

Stiles edged into the room gradually, as if he was going to startle a wild gazelle that he wanted to pat. The room was lined with bookshelves; complete with books and small ornaments. There was a singular window at the back of the room, emitting light onto the desk Derek was drooped over; the light that flowed in casted a silhouette of Derek’s body. He had his pen in hand, and was writing on a small sheet of paper. After Stiles stood still and watched Derek write for a few minutes, Derek pushed the paper aside and looked towards Stiles.

“Yes?” He hummed.

“Do you have any chores for me, Master?”

Derek chuckled and rose from his seat. Derek was wearing a slimly fitted grey shirt and jeans that hugged his waist in such a perfect way. During the time of the New World, in which he had lost count of the years, Stiles had not seen such tidy clothes. Even the Betas and Omegas sometimes had holes here and there on their shirts and pants, but the Alphas clothes were beautiful. Stiles had forgotten what it was like to wear soft fabrics on his skin.

“I’m surprised no one has told you.” Derek tittered, sitting on the edge of his desk.

“Told me what, Alpha Hale?” Stiles answered in confusion, his eyebrows knitting together. The look on Derek’s face displayed that the answer that was coming, was not going to please Stiles in any way.

“Each slave in this house, Stiles, is…assigned per say to one of the associated Masters or Betas in the house. For personal use mostly.”

Stiles took only a few seconds to catch on. He had heard stories of female slaves being used as sexual partners, usually ending up in being turned by said Master or by eventually being rid of and replaced by fresh meat.

“So, who am I assigned to? Omega Melissa, Master?”

 “Melissa does not want to partake in the use of slaves or sexual acts with them.” Derek scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“But that only leaves males, Master?”

And at that, Stiles had another realisation. Isaac, Boyd and Derek himself were the only wolves in the house. Stiles had never heard of male slaves becoming partners to werewolves. He had never really thought about it either.

“I originally had you assigned to Boyd, you see, but I want to play with you I’ve decided.” Derek smirked, twisting his body to face Stiles.

“I’ve always had a thing for teenagers.”

Stiles swallowed harshly, his mouth becoming dry and arid.

“I’ve just had Isaac in here, pissing in my ear about Scott. Apparently Boyd’s been the one who has been stealing food.” Derek murmured, returning to his seat behind the desk.

That explained the worriedness on Isaac’s face when he was looking for Scott. He must have found out that Derek had confronted him in an unruly way. Scott was Isaac’s. And now Stiles was Derek’s. The idea of being with a male scared Stiles. He had never once thought about a man in any sexual way, and he did not want to. Sure, Stiles didn’t care for people who shared the common interests in men that Derek did, but Stiles did not want to be with a male and that was final. But in a situation where an Alpha, especially of the great size and strength of Derek, told Stiles he was theirs, he really could do nothing about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, from this chapter onwards I ask you to please remember that this story is tagged because the stuff tagged does and will happen in this fic. This is just a little warning so you can ready yourself for this chapter and re-read the tags if needed.   
> As always, comments and criticism/critiquing is welcomed! :)

“It’s better if you don’t fight. Us Were are uncontrollable nowadays, Stiles.”

“Don’t compare yourself to _them._ You’re nothing like them, Melissa.”

“I was like you once; strong and confident. But you have to learn that you can’t be like that okay? It’s not the same as it used to be and you _know_ that. Derek bought you and you can’t do anything about that. Derek bought me, and I couldn’t and _didn’t_ do anything about it. We can’t fight what is the inevitable, Stiles. You’re a smart boy. I want you to use your wits and just…give up.”

“I’m not giving up. Melissa you shouldn’t give up. You’re proof that Werewolves aren’t so bad.”

“Stiles, listen to me. Obey you’re Master, and never let any Were hear you speak like this, you hear?”

Melissa sat perched at the end of Stiles’ bed, cross-legged and concerned. Stiles had gone running to her after he found out that he was not only going to be a slave, but a sexual one too. Stiles was terrified and in this house, Melissa seemed to be the only one he could trust. Melissa had seen both male and female slaves pass through the same doors Stiles had come through. She had seen the way the Betas and Derek treated them. The majority displayed the same attitude as Stiles; they had the same fear of being forced into doing things they didn’t want to do. A great sense of gnawing guilt shot through Melissa’s body every time she could not save them from the Were. Every time a slave was disposed of, every time a slave was sold back or to a camp, she would watch and well up in frustration in the fact she could not save them. And Stiles seemed to be headed in the same path.

“Stiles. Please. They will _kill_ you if you don’t do what they say. Derek is a psychotic killer, Boyd and Isaac no different. We are Werewolves. It is our nature.”

Stiles drew his legs into a tight hug, resting his head into the gap between his knees and chest. He was afraid of what the wolves would do to him, but he was determined to not be abused. Stiles would be happy to clean or wash or cook but not this; not sex.

“I haven’t even had sex. This was definitely not the way I planned on losing it if I ever did!” Stiles yelped, tearing up slightly.

“Didn't your mama teach you to make do with what you have?” Melissa said, smacking Stiles lightly on the head.

“Pull your head out of there and look at me when I talk to you.” She added.

Stiles rose his head, red ringed eyes staring passively at Melissa’s petite face, surrounded by beautiful brown curls. She leant forward and cupped Stiles’ chin in her hands. She wiped away a small tear on Stiles’ cheek with her thumb.

“My mother used to tell me ‘Keep crying, and I'll give you something to cry about!’ and I will do the same to you if you don’t quit it, Stiles. Be brave. Be strong. But obey. Keep your head up, but keep it down when you know it needs to be. You got it?”

Stiles nodded into her hands, blubbering and smiling at her motherly instincts. Melissa released him and raised herself off of the bed. Stiles followed her with his eyes as she moved to the door.

“You’re a sweet kid, Stiles. You’re my favourite.” She smiled.

 

* * *

 

It was only two days later that Stiles had to face his fears. He had been helping out in the garden with Scott; pruning trees to desirable lengths, mowing the lawns and other such things. The sun was low in the sky and surrounded by clouds that defended the two from suffering in the heat. Stiles had taken off his shirt nonetheless whilst he staked a rose bush so it would grow in the right formation.

Eventually, the boys decided the garden looked orderly enough to take a break. Stiles put his shirt back on and wandered inside, talking to Scott about normal things like freedom and sleeping. Scott did not seem to sleep well, he had grey bags under his eyes and he often yawned. Stiles felt guilty at the fact he could fall asleep as soon as he hit the mattress despite the amount of energy he had.

Stiles paced up the stairs to his room, where he sat on his bed and took off his shoes. He sat idly for a while, just breathing, waiting, and thinking about nothing. The door creaked open quietly, Stiles unaware and caught in a daydream.

“Stiles.”

Stiles blinked and looked over to the figure by the door. It was Derek.

“Yes, Master?” Stiles spoke softly, attempting to be inaudible to the Alpha who could most obviously hear his heartbeat, let alone two words. Derek walked slowly to where Stiles sat, in which Stiles responded almost immediately by leaping onto the floor on the opposite side of the bed.

“No.” Stiles breathed, seeing the intentions on Derek’s face.

“Aw, don’t be like that.” Derek smirked, pouting sardonically at Stiles’ hesitation. Stiles raised his hands at Derek. They were the only defence he had against Derek, and that of the bed separating the two.

“You can’t out run me Stiles.” He added.

Stiles ever so gently found himself moving closer and closer towards the wall behind him.

“Master, stop.” He managed to blurt out amidst the rushing adrenaline flowing through his fragile bones.

Suddenly, Derek jolted forward and Stiles managed to sprint out of the door before getting cornered. He barely achieved getting his feet down the hallway before being confronted once more by Derek standing in the archway to the stairs.

“No, no, no, no.” Stiles whimpered, tailing shakily back to his room, senses on Derek. Derek had somehow managed to get ahead of Stiles, his Alpha strengths proving at this point in time.

“Oh, come on Stiles. It’s not going to be that bad; I promise I’ll take care of you.” Derek grinned, his voice dusted with sarcasm. Derek walked forward readily, his eyes now flaring red. Stiles yelped as he ran to his room, Derek coursing after him. Stiles managed to get one firm slap across Derek’s face until he was pinned on his wall. Derek breathed deeply onto Stiles’ ear, a firm grasp wrapped around his neck.

“Ooh, I like ‘em feisty.” Derek whispered, brushing his hips keenly on Stiles’ own.

“Get off me. Get…Stop.” Stiles struggled, trying to move or kick or do something to release him from this grasp.

“Please. Derek. Derek, stop it.”

Derek grinded his now ever growing eagerness onto Stiles, attempting to nuzzle Stiles’ ear at the same time; the cycle in which Derek moved his hips was relentless.

“See. We _could_ have fun, Stiles. Just the two of us.” Derek exhaled deeply. He now had his hand on Stiles crotch rubbing at his cock through his jeans. Stiles, like any other teenage boy, could not help but feel slightly aroused at the touch having being starved from sexual attention for years.

Derek grabbed Stiles’ arm and pinned it behind his back, forcing Stiles to turn around. With Stiles’ back facing the Alpha, Derek rubbed himself firmly onto Stiles’ ass as he forced him onto his bed. Derek slung his leg over Stiles’ back and straddled him. Stiles was constantly moving around and trying to slip from Derek’s clutch.

“You smell good for a slave.” Derek said, nestling deep into Stiles’ neck. Derek pulled Stiles’ torso up off the bed, only for a moment, slipping off Stiles sweaty shirt.

Stiles began to cry; screaming and kicking.

“It’s okay Stiles,” Derek said, seeing the turmoil Stiles was in. For a brief second, the sounds of terror that Stiles made horrified himself. But he then proceeded to run his tongue down Stiles’ noticeable spine, letting it explore every vertebrae and crevice that stuck out against Stiles’ skin. “It’s okay.”

 “I don’t want this! Take me back to the camp!” He yelled, his voice echoing throughout the room and creating an ever pressing sadness to seep into the halls. Derek quickly quiets Stiles by pulling his head up and kissing him deeply. His firm and stroking tongue working magic on the lower lip and inner walls of Stiles’ mouth. Stiles hushed, at one point even accepting the kiss, before remembering that he did not want it.

Stiles inhaled sharply at Derek’s release.

“I’ve never had sex!” Stiles cried as Derek manoeuvred himself down to now being perched on Stiles’ knees.

“Calm down, Stiles.” Derek hissed, never having to deal with such an incompliance from a slave before. Most of the slaves he had bought before Stiles would have given up by now or would not have fought it from the beginning.

Even though the amount of slaves Derek had partaken in sexual intercourse with was a vast amount, he had always remained unbonded; not finding a fit slave to embrace the Werewolves ways. He found that he could not bear the look in the slaves eyes; always so dead and hopeless. The way that Stiles looked at Derek, though, was electrifying. Stiles had hope, courage and confidence that exuded immensely in his gaze. He wasn’t like the rest.

Stiles’ yelling and crying reached the point where it made Derek question his intentions briefly, but his Were instincts had always gotten the better of him. Especially when it came to a virgin teenager.

Derek grabbed at Stiles’ tattered jeans and pulled them down over Stiles’ bare ass. Stiles stilled and quietened. Derek moaned at the sight. In willingness, Derek hooked his finger into his own suit pants, pulled them down and his cock springs free.

Stiles stupidly thought, now he had admitted his virginity, Derek would be gentle with him. He had high hopes that Derek would go easy on him maybe. Derek propped forward and offered his index and middle finger to Stiles’ lips. Stiles shook his head furiously and turned the other way, still moving continuously.

“Alright, have it your way.” Derek said, licking his fingers and rubbing them gently around Stiles’ hole. He rubs for a minute or two, Stiles undeniably moaning slightly. And then, Derek grabbed hold of his cock, and rubbed it for a while; just staring at Stiles’ body before him. Stiles had remained quiet now for the longest period of time so far and this please Derek. It made him almost think that Stiles may actually want this.

“Breathe, Stiles.”

Derek slipped his cock lightly inside of Stiles. And for the first few times that Derek sinks into him, it is gentle, it is slow. But eventually, Derek pushes in deeper and faster and more painfully.

“You’re so tight! Stop resisting Stiles!” Derek moans, slapping Stiles’ ass. The sting makes Stiles yelp, but other than that small sound, Stiles lay on the bed motionless. Derek pushed inside relentlessly. He moaned and gave in and pecked at Stiles’ neck whilst he did so.

Stiles felt as though he had left his own body. As if he had ripped open the fabric around him that was the world and walked out of it. Stiles can’t push Derek out of him; he can’t make it stop at all. Stiles eventually gave in himself, and at some parts enjoyed it, but his morals ate away at him.

After a gathering of the deepest and strongest strokes, Derek lets out a sharp growl and pulls out. He didn’t come or knot inside Stiles, but instead comes over Stiles back before knotting in his hand.

 “Good boy.” Derek spoke, standing up and pulling his pants over his knotted cock.

Stiles remained lying chest down on the bed; not talking or moving or breathing at some points. And Derek left. Just like that, he had gone. He left Stiles feeling dirty and disgusting and violated to the point where he wanted to vomit.

But amidst all of this, something happened to Stiles other than the act itself. He knew he enjoyed it, somewhere deep inside of his mind. He liked it. But he did not allow himself to believe that.

 

* * *

 

The way he walked like a dead soul into Melissa’s room nearly brought her to tears. She knew what Derek had done. She heard what Derek had done.

Melissa had let Stiles use her bathroom. He stood for what seemed like hours under the cool water; letting it run over his dirty skin. Ultimately he found himself staring into a foggy mirror in the bathroom and crying. He sobbed and blubbered and found himself talking to his reflection. Stiles was conflicted in his feelings. He hurt and ached but something felt almost right.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me.”


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles woke the next morning on the cold wooden floor of Melissa’s bedroom. He could not bring himself to sleep in the sheets that were on his bed. They smelled of Derek; the thick scent of aftershave and leather had bled in to the linen. He could not bear to rest his face near that smell. So, he slept on Melissa’s floor with only a pillow to support him.  

He felt extremely tender and achy. His muscles were overworked from not only sleeping on the floor, but from all the fighting last night. From his arms to his thighs, everything was raw and his limbs yelled at him to keep still and refrain from their use, but Stiles had no choice.

Stiles abstained from thinking about what happened the night before. He roamed down the now awfully familiar hallway and stairs and bumped into Scott, who was sweeping leafs out of the door.

“Windy night.” Scott spoke, not turning to look at Stiles, but somehow he knew who it was.

“Yeah. Looks that way.” Stiles murmured, with his thoughts disjointed and messy.

Scott looked over to Stiles and saw the same expression he had once had upon his face.

“Oh no, Stiles,” Scott began, walking quickly over to him, dropping his broom on the floor along the way.

“It happened, didn’t it?”

Stiles just looked at Scott. There was no words spoken, no movements needed, just the harsh and saddened look on Stiles’ face. And in that moment, Scott knew.

Scott had been in the Hale house for little over a year, after being brought home by Derek for Isaac. He remembered meeting Isaac, who was awfully shy about the entire situation. Scott was a birthday gift and Isaac always found it amusing that he was given a slave and not just simply a cake. He had been gentler, though, than Derek with Stiles. Isaac did not rush into things, and Scott was glad. Isaac was dreadfully clingy in the beginning, not knowing how to go about things with his new slave. He hadn’t had a slave to himself before, so it was all learning and playing. Scott, much like Stiles, had never considered having sex with another man and the idea also displeased him. But eventually, Isaac and Scott grew to enjoy each other’s company. Scott would sleep on Isaac’s floor, ultimately ending up in Isaac’s bed. And the two became a great pair, and they both enjoyed the sex. Isaac was terribly distraught when Derek had hurt Scott, and it caused him to become over protective for a few days, but now Isaac maintains a watchful distance like he always has.

“I want to talk to you, but we can’t do it here. Not while our Masters are so close by.” Scott whispered, leaning forward and peering around. Stiles nodded and followed Scott as he made his way through the front door, picking up the broom and leaning it against the door along the way.

“Look,” Scott began, the two following a beautifully crafted cobble path to the back of the house. It looped smoothly through the pruned garden.

“You didn’t enjoy it, did you?”

“To say the least.” Stiles eventually said, focusing on his footing.

The trees that framed the house gradually dispersed and Stiles found himself gazing at a small lake, glass like and decorated with a corroding, wooden gazebo.

“Don’t worry, they rarely come out this far.” Scott said, seeing the look of awe on Stiles’ face. They meandered over to what was now clearly put as a monstrosity of a gazebo. No one had tended to the wood for years visibly; the wood blackened and chipping. Nonetheless, the boys walked to the edge and gazed over the barrier.

“Was it bad?” Scott finally blurted out.

“I guess you could say that.” Stiles replied, gazing at the ripples that formed around his finger as he dipped it in the water. Scott remained quiet after that.

“He…he knew I didn’t want it, Scott. He knew. I screamed, and I yelled, and not one person came in and stopped him because I sure as hell couldn’t.” Stiles mumbled, his eyes welling up slightly at the thought.

“How could no one have heard me? I was screaming, Scott. Screaming.”

“I heard you, Stiles, but I wouldn’t have been able to do anything. You know that. And it’s not like Boyd or Isaac would’ve helped you. And Melissa would’ve had her throat ripped out if she had tried, too.” Scott whispered guiltily.

“I know. I’m just-I’m just so angry, Scott.”

“You’re allowed to be.”

“How do you do it? How could you enjoy that?” Stiles gritted through clenched teeth, talking lowly.

“To tell you the truth Stiles, I did enjoy my first time with Isaac. He was gentle and pleasant and kind. I didn’t have to put up with an Alpha, Stiles. You have to remember that Isaac isn’t Derek.” Scott said, quickly coming to Isaac’s defence.

“It’s all about tactic, Stiles. It’s all about the thrill and the heat of the moment sort of thing. You have to make it your own otherwise you’ll be kicked on your arse right back to where you came from.”

“But Scott, I didn’t want it.” Stiles said, voice raised and banging his fist on the railing a few times.

“I didn’t want any of this!”

Scott was not really one to give people advice, but when he knew he could, he often took the opportunity. The fact that Stiles was so unaccepting of his fate was amazing to Scott; not once had he seen a slave pass through the Hale doors that had such fight in him. While only fragile skin and bones, Stiles had the heart of a warrior. Scott admired it.

“Stiles, listen to me. I am going to give you some guidance. Sure, it is your choice whether or not you choose to follow it, but I recommend you do.” Scott said firmly, resting his hand on Stiles’ shoulder and looking him straight in the eyes.

“We are slaves in a world that we can’t fix or run from. You need to listen to me when I tell you that we can’t escape any of this. This world and the way we live is permanent. Us humans are nothing to the Were. We are merely slaves. Sexual or not, we have to obey. Stiles, just stop fighting it okay? Otherwise you’ll just be another slave going through those doors back to another Merchant or another camp. I don’t want to see you go yet, Stiles. Not yet.”

Stiles sighed. They stood silently for a while, just gazing out above the small lake and up at the clouded blue sky. It was nice for Stiles to just stand next to someone in peace. He had not felt such tranquillity since he was a child; living with his deputy father and beautiful mother. Stiles never realised how much he had taken his old life for granted; nobody did.

“What do I do then?” Stiles ultimately asked.

“I’m not sure. Did Derek seem to…you know…enjoy it?” Scott inquired awkwardly, trying not to upset Stiles.

“I’m one hundred percent sure he enjoyed it.” Stiles scoffed.

“Then you show him what you’ve got. You take charge. Use it against him.” Scott smiled weakly, attempting to ignite that glimmer of hope in Stiles’ eyes that he had when they were in the garden only yesterday.

And that was it. Stiles needed to take charge. It was almost as though an epiphany kindled in his mind.

 

* * *

 

 

It was all about timing; getting in and out of Derek’s office without him noticing until Stiles had left. Or being caught in the act just so Stiles could get it over with there and then. Stiles’ plan was to make Derek want him, tend to his every need and crave him. Then he would use this to his advantage; he’d get out of here or something. It was a plan that Stiles’ feared.

Stiles eventually found his way back to the house. Inside, it was quiet; no noise whatsoever. He almost crept towards the door in which Stiles knew was Derek’s office, attempting not to break the silence. Stiles knocked twice.

_No response._

He knocked once more and waited, before coming to the conclusion that no one was inside.

“Right,” Stiles muttered reassuringly to himself. He wrapped his long, slender fingers around the doorknob and ever so guardedly let the door swing open. The room was empty.

_Thank god._

He walked in slowly, gazing around in fascination and boredom. Stiles looked in a few draws, moving things around here and there. He moved some papers around and some flew onto the floor.

“Looking for something?” Derek’s voice was almost followed with a laughed. Stiles fumbled and just about lost balance at the sound of Derek’s voice but he managed to stand on two feet. Derek was only a few feet away from Stiles.

“Yeah, I was.” Stiles said casually. He took a bold risk not saying ‘Master’ at the end and there in turn received spiteful eyes in return from Derek.

“Well then?” Derek said.

“You, Derek.”

Derek almost shuddered at his own name being spoken to him.

“Don’t call me that.” He spat.

Stiles stepped forward so that their chests just grazed each other. Derek looked down at Stiles eyes that were glaring up at him. The height difference was lovely to Stiles. The fact that Stiles’ face could simply fit perfectly onto Derek’s chest was a nice thought; but one dismissed quickly.

“Master.” Stiles whispered, the gaze intensifying and Stiles’ bit his lip. He let the word roll off his tongue in the most tantalizing way.

“Master.” He repeated, curling his head so his necks bare flesh was exposed to Derek. Derek breathed deeply, watching Stiles’ neck twist and he could not help but run his hand up Stiles’ chest around to the nape of his neck.

“What are you doing Stiles?” Derek said huskily, his stubble grazing across Stiles’ cheek.

“Master.” Stiles moaned, slipping his hands around Derek’s waist and dragging them down Derek’s back. Derek was breathing deeply, his breath running down Stiles’ neck. Derek pushed Stiles off of him so Stiles ass sat on the edge of the desk behind him and his back arched slightly off the top. Stiles smirked as Derek pinned him against the desk.

“I knew you’d come ‘round.” Derek grinned before licking up Stiles’ cheek. He then began an unyielding exploration of Stiles; his tonguesearching ever dip and depth of Stiles’ mouth, occasionally biting at Stiles’ bottom lip. Stiles curved his hips high off the desk so that his crotch was rubbing against Derek’s own. This tirade continued for a few minutes; the two panting, moaning, kissing and grinding in a beautiful pattern.

“Derek,” Stiles spoke.

“I don’t want to have sex with you right now.”

Derek stopped and leant upright.

“What?” Derek huffed.

“Not tonight, anyway.” Stiles added.

“I could just…What are you trying to do, Stiles? Torture me?”

“Possibly, Master.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and critiques are welcomed!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, believe me I know. It's a filler, I guess. For something big. Without this here, future stuff wouldn't make sense. So bare with me. Thank you to a few commenters who motivated me to not give this piece up. And I am also very sorry for the extremely long break between the chapters. For reasons such as exams and genuine writers block, it slowed things down. But now I have made a plan (which I should have done to start with), everything seems to be rolling on good. Anywho, enjoy (hopefully).

“I don’t usually wait around for what is mine Stiles. And I think you know that.” Derek hinted, brushing his knuckles across his head.

“I’ve been told, Master, that those who do not comply with you, usually get sent back to a merchant or sent back to a camp. And for some, I don’t know, unknown reason,” Stiles’ voice was laced with sarcasm.

“I feel you have taking a liking to me.”

“Oh really? What makes you say that? I could kick you to the curb right now if I wanted to.” Derek growled, stepping forward into Stiles’ bubble. Derek’s glower was fierce and scrutinizing and menacing; stating his ownership over Stiles. But Stiles’ was filled with a lacklustre expression; his jaded appearance frustrating Derek.

“It’s like you don’t even want to be here, Stiles. I took you in. Hundreds of boys would _kill_ to be in your situation.”

“You don’t make me want to be here!” Stiles stood off of the table, making Derek hesitantly step back. Stiles had never felt this sort of feeling before.

 _Fury_.

“You…you raped me,” Stiles began, his gaze searing into Derek.

“I don’t think anyone of those boys would rather be here. I’d rather die hauling logs all day to build the Were’s fancy, swanky houses than die here!” Stiles had never yelled like this before. His voice cracked and he sobbed ever so slightly. Derek stood still for a moment; utterly and completely still. He only breathed every so often, creating the only apparent sound in the room.

Stiles remained locked in an intent glare and he suddenly felt like his father. From what he remembered, his father was bold and brave and courageous; a man of few but valiant words, and a devoted dad to Stiles. His father was everything his wanted to be when he was a child. And right now, in this moment, Stiles felt his father’s genes residing in him show.

“If you want to treat me like…like this,” Stiles raised his arms, his body to Derek.

“Kill me now.”

Stiles left his body facing Derek for a moment before Derek let out a sigh.

“Okay, Stiles, I get it. It’s just most of the kids who come in here, I don’t want them. I thought you were one of those. The play toys. I didn’t think you’d last this long. I had thought you’d have gone missing by now.” Derek shrugged, pacing the room inch by inch.

“Missing?”

“I thought you’d run away.”

“To where, Derek? Really? Where could I run around here that wouldn’t get me killed?” Stiles huffed.

“I thought you wanted to be killed?” Derek smirked.

“You know what I mean, Derek.”

Derek scowled again at his name and the distasteful sarcasm Stiles portrayed on his face.

“So, what do you want then, Stiles? If it isn’t the empty threats of death.”

“I don’t know. Plus, it doesn’t matter what I want regardless of any situation I am in. I am a slave. But I do ask that I am treated better. Much better.” Stiles composed himself.

“You know, I have seen some pretty horrific things in my life. I’ve seen my father leave and never return, my mother die, my world fall apart. And what have you seen? You and your kind have seen nothing. You live good lives, and we suffer in your rise.”

“You don’t know anything. You’re just another kid who doesn’t know what they are talking about. Nonetheless, I will think about today. But don’t think for one minute I am playing soft on you, got it? I can have whatever I like, when I like.” Derek sneers, eventually hovering his finger at the door.

“For now, I ask you leave.”

And Stiles left.

 

* * *

 

As Stiles was about to ascend the stairs, a rushed Melissa bumped into him.

“Oh there you are, Stiles.” She breathed.

“I thought you’d been killed. My god, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Are you okay?” She rested her hands on Stiles’ cheeks, searching his face for problems.

“You’re not broken or bleeding are you?” She questioned again, Stiles giggling into her hands.

“Melissa, I’m fine.” He smiled down at her.

“Are you sure? I couldn’t find you and I thought Derek had for sure-“

“Shhh. I’m fine. Don’t fret.”  Stiles interrupted, taking Melissa’s hands off of his cheeks and shaking them gently.

Melissa sighed gently before pulling Stiles in for a hug.

“Don’t ever do that to me again.” She whispered.

“I didn’t do anything.” Stiles chuckled, releasing her and grinning.

Melissa chortled and softly slapped Stiles on the head.

“This isn’t a laughing matter, boy. Now, you’re needed in the kitchen.”

“By who?”

“By me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shrugs* share your disappointments.


End file.
